


Your Body Is A Wonderland

by Burning_Up_A_Sun



Series: Adult Education [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Jamms!Verse, John's tied up at the moment, Light Bondage, Love, M/M, Making Love, Married Couple, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-27
Updated: 2014-11-27
Packaged: 2018-02-27 05:56:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2681657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Burning_Up_A_Sun/pseuds/Burning_Up_A_Sun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>God Bless the Americans for inventing a holiday where Sherlock could worship John's body, part by part, kiss by kiss, in Thanksgiving.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Body Is A Wonderland

**Author's Note:**

> for my friends here in town who will never read it, but know I wrote it while they were all cooking for their families.
> 
> I've said this is part of the Adult Education, but really, it's just PWP. I say that with a big smile, without regret and with great pleasure.

“I’m thankful for these feet that brought you to me.” Sherlock lifted John’s foot to his lips and dotted kisses over the sole and followed the line of his arch with even more. “These feet. I love these feet.”

Sherlock kissed the top of each toe, lavishing attention on each before he looked back to John, whose behind wiggled impatiently against the flannel sheets. With a grin, he blew raspberry kisses on John’s soles, his lips and nose tickling. John tried not to give in, held his breath not to laugh, but his giggles exploded with the last loud raspberry in the middle of his foot.

“Don’t you like it?” Sherlock grinned at John, one eyebrow cocked. “Move your foot. Oh wait. You can’t, can you.” John pulled his right foot, but one of Sherlock’s worn silk boarding school ties held it firmly in place, well knotted.

‘What about _this_ one?” Sherlock picked the left foot up and scraped his manicured nail down the underside. It sent a shiver through John, who laughed and wrestled his leg away but that tie held tight, too. His cock, naked and thick with desire, twitched with the shiver even though John decidedly did not want his husband to know how hot this was.

“Dammit Sherlock,” he said through his high pitched squeal, “This isn’t doing anything for my cock. Suck it.” John tried for assertive as he lifted his head from the pillow, unable to sit up because of the ties around his wrists, also. One look at Sherlock’s wicked smile, the way his tongue wet his lips as it traced them, and John melted. “Please,” he whispered as he pushed his pelvis up toward Sherlock’s body.

Taking John apart, kiss by kiss, was Sherlock’s favorite way to make love. He slid up John’s well-muscled calf, kissing and licking up to his inner thigh.

“I’m also thankful for these legs that brought you here to my home and my bed.” He nuzzled his nose into John’s thigh crease. “And that wrap around my waist or go over my shoulder.”

Sherlock had never said it out loud, but this was his favorite part of John’s body, where his torso met his leg. The crease held the scent of the grapefruit body wash he favored and mingled with John’s sweat and his need. Sherlock breathed in deeply the essence of his husband.

John’s cock twitched because Sherlock was close, so close to it. “Bring that mouth here,” he moaned, his wrists struggling to release themselves, to touch Sherlock. To feel the heat and sweat of his body. To connect again and again.

Sherlock ignored every impulse that pushed him to sink his mouth over John’s cock or even to tongue away the wetness beading at the tip. He closed his eyes and growled at John. “Don’t interrupt my prayers of thanksgiving or else....”

That wicked grin returned as John moaned his disapproval, again pushing his hips up trying to feel skin on skin.

Sherlock pushed the rumpled sheets out of the way and rearranged his body, centering himself between John’s v’d legs. With a light, tickling caress, he dragged his nose up the underside of John’s shaft but avoided the tip. John whined as he pushed his hips up in small thrusts.

“Soon, love. Soon,” Sherlock crooned, allowing his belly to rub against John’s erection for a moment. When John thrust up, Sherlock gasped at the spark in his spine, the need that pooled between his legs at the touch of skin on skin.

“Stop moving,” he said to John, who now realized the impact his thrusts were having.

“I’m thankful for your heart and your soul,” he said, desperate to finish. He kissed John’s chest, sucked the pebbled, hard nipple, flicking it with his tongue when he stopped speaking. “Your heart cared enough to take a chance on me and your soul thought I was good the way I am. That I didn’t need to be changed or fixed.” He looked up at John from under his eyelashes, not breaking eye contact as he laved at the nipple.

“You are perfect,” John gasped, desperate to touch Sherlock’s face, his hair, his hand. “You didn’t need to change.”

His second favorite spot on John’s body was a small sun freckle under John’s left ear. Not the freckle itself, but that spot…when he kissed it, sucked it, nipped it, John’s knees buckled and his body and brain focused on one thought: Sherlock. Sherlock. Sherlock.

“I’m thankful for this neck and this ear.” Sherlock nipped a small bruise then kissed it to make it better. He rested his forehead against John’s shoulder and focused on the drag of John’s cock against his belly. His own erection slid under John’s balls, down between his ass cheeks.

“Stop moving or I will finish before I finish,” Sherlock moaned, not making sense even to himself. “I’m almost finished giving thanks.”

John pulled against the ties that bound his wrists. “Please. I need to touch you, and I can’t reach you like this.”

Sherlock brought himself to all fours, poised over John’s body. He brushed his lips first over John’s forehead, and then against John’s mouth. Slowly, sensually kissing him. Raking his teeth over John’s bottom lip before tracing it with his tongue.

“I’m thankful for this mouth that said _I do_ six months ago. That says _I love you_ every day.”

“That says want you.” John moaned, twisting beneath Sherlock. “God I want you Sherlock. I don’t care if you’re in me or on me, but I need you.” He’d arched his back so they could touch, torso to torso.

Sherlock looked at him through heavy eyes. His own cock desperately needed to be touched. Before he reached for the bottle of lube, he pulled the end of each knot, releasing John’s wrists from the ties.

John enclosed Sherlock in his arms tentatively, his shoulders sore from the position they’d been in. “I love when you tease me, but right now, I need to hold you, to feel you,” he said, placing his palm over Sherlock’s chest.

Sherlock gently slid John’s hand from his chest and squirted lube into John’s palm. Without asking, John encircled his fingers and pushed them down over Sherlock’s erection before pulling them back up.

“Tell me what you want,” John whispered, stroking down the shaft again.

“You. Want you. Want to be inside you,” Sherlock growled and pushed John back onto the pillows. He untied John’s ankles and then wrapped them around him, canting John’s hips.

He slipped his own hand over his cock to ensure it was well lubed before lining himself up with John.

John shuddered as the cock’s blunt head pressed against his entry. Everything narrowed to this. Sherlock pushing inside him, filling him. The warmth of Sherlock inside him, the fullness. Becoming one together.

But with the first snap of Sherlock’s hips, John’s romantic thoughts distilled to **_Godyesfuckmehard_**. His cock bobbed between their bodies, slapping against his stomach, leaking, with each rhythmic thrust of Sherlock’s hips.

This.

This stretch and burn. This push and pull. This sudden emptiness then fullness . Each time Sherlock thrust, John called out louder until Sherlock’s hips stuttered and quickened losing their rhythm as he edged closer and slid over the edge.

Sherlock, always in control. Never at a loss for words. John watched him fall apart, his sweat soaked curls lying flat against his brow, mumbling something that was more sound than word. He couldn’t take his eyes off Sherlock, and watching him still and shake pushed John over into his own orgasm. It striped his stomach before it pulsed and stopped.

When he finally found his words, John said, “God Bless the Americans.”

Through his deep heaving breaths, Sherlock said, “Yes, this is an amazing holiday. Happy Thanksgiving, John.”


End file.
